


Light that Spark

by Neyiea



Category: LazyTown
Genre: I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, Oral Sex, Spitroasting, Sportacus lovingly indulges Robbie's kinks, Threesome - M/M/M, the tv show and play are parallel universes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 02:51:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8872840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyiea/pseuds/Neyiea
Summary: Robbie accidentally pulls Íþróttaálfurinn out of his own dimension and into theirs.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe that the first smutfic I'm going to write for Lazytown is going to be this instead of, like, the most loving and sweet first-time Sportarobbie I could think of. Oh my gosh, I am so sorry (but also not).
> 
> First chapter is just laying down the plot, because I am apparently incapable of writing a PWP, so next chapter is when the real magic happens. Stay tuned (finger guns into the sunset).

When Sportacus’s crystal had alerted him that Robbie was in trouble this was not what he expected to find.

_This_ being Robbie held in place by two hands curled into the fabric of his waistcoat, nervously sputtering something while someone who looked almost identical to Sportacus frowned at him.

Sportacus could ask questions about how this had happened later, for now he was much more concerned with getting Robbie out of harm’s way.

“I think it’s time to unhand him, don’t you?” He says smoothly as he steps between the pair, his almost mirror-image losing his grip on Robbie in apparent shock. Sportacus takes a moment to look him up and down.

That was his face, his body, just younger and a little more lean. But the outfit wasn’t something he could recall ever wearing, which at least ruled out the theory that Robbie had been dabbling in time travel again.

“What is your name?”

Familiar blue eyes stare at him, narrowed in suspicion. “You can call me Íþróttaálfurinn.”

“What kind of name is that,” Sportacus can hear Robbie mutter under his breath, unfortunately Íþróttaálfurinn hears him too, and his eyes dart away from Sportacus to focus on Robbie once more.

“Glanni, I do not know what kind of trick you are trying to pull, but if you do not come clean right now this will not end in your favor.” He crosses his arms and cocks his head expectantly. “I’m waiting.”

Robbie inhales sharply, and Sportacus intervenes before he can say something that might set the other elf off.

“His name isn’t Glanni. He’s Robbie, and I’m sure he has an excellent explanation for this, don’t you Robbie?” He casts a meaningful look at the man behind him, and Robbie exhales with a sigh.

“I thought it would be interesting,” he says, the hint of a whine in his voice enough of a clue for Sportacus to deduce that he hasn’t been sleeping well. “At first I just thought, why don’t I visit young Robbie and have a chat? I can wipe his memory later, and I’m sure my younger self would love to see how handsome I have become.”

Sportacus feels a smile tug at his lips.

“But then I thought; why bother with the past! Time travel is a last year gimmick, here in the present alternate universes are what should be explored! So I made my Parallel Universe 6000 and tried to grab myself but I got _him_ instead!” He points at Íþróttaálfurinn dramatically. “And then he started to chase me!”

Íþróttaálfurinn stares at Robbie as if he’s grown an extra head. His gaze drifts over to Sportacus, as if to briefly take comfort from a less manic familiar face, before going back to Robbie.

“Do you really expect me to believe that you somehow have the magic to pluck unsuspecting people from alternate realities?”

Robbie balks at the mention of magic. “I’m a genius, I can do whatever suits me!”

“And if you don’t believe him perhaps I can convince you,” Sportacus offers pleasantly. “We could play something, one-on-one. Surely if I were not you I would not be able to beat you.” The idea of a challenge makes his heart beat a little faster in anticipation.

“Beat me? Why would you think you could beat me?”

Ah, the arrogance of youth, just as apparent in this alternate version of himself as it would have been in a younger version of himself, if not more so.

“Well I am clearly the older of the two of us, I’ve had more time to train and become stronger.” He crosses his arms, flexing his biceps as he does so because he knows how much Robbie loves that.

“If you’re looking at it that way then I still have the agility of youth on my side.”

“Are you implying that you think you’ll become less agile as the years go on?”

“No, I’m just saying that with the muscle mass that you’ve added to your frame--”

“Now now, calm down boys, you’re both very handsome and athletic,” Robbie interrupts quickly. Íþróttaálfurinn sends him a startled look at the unexpected praise. “If you are going to do _sports_ or whatever, get out of my lair to do so. I refuse to have that kind of activity ruining my creative environment.”

“Robbie, shouldn’t you worry about the kids seeing a second me running around? They’ll know he’s not me, and then they’ll have so many questions that they’ll want you to answer. I imagine they wouldn’t leave you alone for weeks.”

Íþróttaálfurinn watches curiously as Robbie’s face scrunches up in distress.

“Fine. Have your little competition here, but don’t break anything!”

“I would never break anything of yours, Robbie,” Sportacus tells him fondly before turning to Íþróttaálfurinn. “So, any preferences?”

Íþróttaálfurinn puts his hands on his hips, giving his other self an appraising look.

“I have several things in mind, actually. I have many specialties, after all.”

“So do I,” Sportacus responds cheerily. Robbie sighs expressively from his spot behind him.

“It’ll take another 12 hours for my Parallel Universe 6000’s energy supply to recharge enough to put Íþró— Íþróttaál, urg, _him_ back anyways. So while you two are busy with pointless competition I’m going to take a nap.”

“Will you be able to sleep though?” Sportacus’s expression quickly becomes concerned, and Íþróttaálfurinn watches in confusion as Sportacus rests a hand gently on Robbie’s shoulder.

“I soundproofed my bedroom, remember?” There’s a glint in Robbie’s eyes, and a sly smile tugging at his mouth that suddenly makes him seem a lot more like Glanni. Sportacus’s cheeks go suspiciously pink.

“Right, of course. I will check in on you once I’m done here.”

Robbie’s smile becomes absolutely wicked. “I’ll be looking forward to it.” He saunters away, hips swaying noticeably as he walks, and Íþróttaálfurinn watches the movement in interest without really meaning to before he snaps his gaze back to Sportacus, whose eyes still seem to be glued on Robbie.

He fights the urge to glance over in the man’s direction again. There was something odd going on here, alternate universe or not.

“About this competition,” he prompts, and Sportacus turns to him with a happy smile, as if he hadn’t been distracted by Robbie’s exit at all. “I say we start with a good old fashion aerobics routine.”

Sportacus’s smile widens. “I couldn’t agree more.”

After aerobics, gymnastics, and a memorable game of one-on-one soccer where they almost end up breaking the huge machine that had brought Íþróttaálfurinn into this world, he has to admit that maybe this isn’t just a look alike that Glanni hired to trick him, and actually is just a different version of himself. Once he readily admits it Sportacus grins at him and hands him an apple, which only acts as further confirmation of the truth. There’s apparently only one bedroom in Robbie’s home, and Íþróttaálfurinn can’t risk himself going up to Sportacus’s airship in case he gets seen by the locals, which leaves the single option of an orange fuzzy chair to sleep in for the night.

“It’s more comfortable than you’d think,” Sportacus tells him, implying that he has slept in it as well. “I’m going to go check on Robbie before I head out, but I’ll see you before we send you off in the morning.”

Íþróttaálfurinn nods and settles down in the chair, closing his eyes uneasily. The mention of Robbie reminds him of how he’d acted when he’d first seen the man, chasing after him and grabbing onto him like he were no better than a common crook. He probably ought to apologize for that. He’ll do so later, once Sportacus has left.

He reclines in the chair, folds his hands together, and listens closely for the sound of Sportacus’s footsteps leaving Robbie’s room.

Ten minutes pass. He doesn’t hear anything.

It’s odd that they’d be together for so long, isn’t it? Unless Sportacus was regaling Robbie with tales of their soccer match. It had certainly been interesting to play games and actually have to work hard to keep the score even.

Another five minutes pass. Íþróttaálfurinn restlessly gets up to his feet, starting to pace.

He doesn’t want to make an apology in front of someone else, even if it is essentially himself, but he also hates having to wait to finish anything.

He gives them another two minutes before, with an agitated huff, he spins on his heel and storms over to Robbie’s door, just barely restraining himself from opening it wide and barging in without announcing himself.

If it is truly soundproofed then a knock probably won’t catch anyone’s attention, so he opens the door just a crack instead, ready to call out a greeting.

The words abruptly get caught in his throat at what he sees inside.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We jump straight into it this chapter. Re-reading this as I was editing sure was an interesting experience. Enjoy, haha.

Robbie is lying on his back in bed, completely naked. Sportacus, who appears to be grazing his teeth along the inside of one of Robbie’s pale thighs, isn’t wearing anything except for his pants, all his other clothes have been strewn across the bedroom floor. Robbie runs his hands through Sportacus’s hair, murmuring encouraging words that Íþróttaálfurinn can only barely make out even with his enhanced hearing, and then Robbie pinches the tips of Sportacus’s ears between his thumbs and forefingers.

Íþróttaálfurinn jolts at the sight of such intimacy, the door swinging just a little more open at his sudden movement, and Sportacus nuzzles his head against Robbie’s thigh as his hips grind against the mattress. Robbie folds his ankles across each other against Sportacus’s back and continues to play with his ears, running his long, slender fingers up and down the sensitive cartilage, occasionally giving the tips a flick or a twist. There’s one terrifying moment when his gaze seems to flicker towards the door, there and gone in just a second, but Íþróttaálfurinn must have imagined it because Robbie doesn’t pause his ministrations. 

“Kiss me,” he asks instead, and Sportacus slides up Robbie’s body to press their lips together, one of his hands working its way between them. Robbie’s hips hitch off the bed and a guttural moan escapes his throat. He breaks the kiss to run his tongue along the reddened tip of an ear. “I can take another, give it to me, please? Want to feel myself open up on your fingers.”

Sportacus lifts himself up, one hand braced on the bed beside Robbie, and his other hand shifts again. Now that there’s some space between them Íþróttaálfurinn can see that he’s not slicking his fist over Robbie’s cock, but that instead his hand is much lower than expected.

Robbie arcs his back and moans prettily as Sportacus complies with his plea. Íþróttaálfurinn feels his cheeks burn at the sight and he takes a step forward, as if compelled to.

His feet scuff against the floor and in an instant Sportacus is looking right at him, motions abruptly coming to a halt. Robbie whines and rocks his hips, but Sportacus gently shushes him and keeps him still.

“Well, what do we have here?” Sportacus sounds amused even through his heavy breathing. “Why don’t you stop hiding, Íþróttaálfurinn?”

He steps into the room and shuts the door behind him, already half-hard from what he’s seen and heard. Robbie’s flustered face, his hooded eyes, and his needy moans and whimpers had seemed almost too erotic to be genuine. Without meaning to he wonders if Glanni would be anything like that during intimate moments, if all his sneering and posturing would melt away under a pair of capable hands.

“Look at who was watching, Robbie,” Sportacus says into the other man’s ear. “I should have known that he’d snoop around. I could never resist you, it makes sense that he wouldn’t be able to either.” He has one hand on Robbie’s hips, firmly keeping him in place, while his other continues to slowly draw two fingers in and out of Robbie’s ass. 

Robbie’s gaze flits over to him. Íþróttaálfurinn’s mouth goes dry when their eyes meet, and Robbie’s breath hitches. 

“I thought you were being more vocal than usual. You saw him before I heard him, didn’t you?”

Robbie looks back at Sportacus and grins lazily. “Maybe. What are you going to do about it?”

“Oh, I have several ideas.” He leans in for a brief kiss. It’s sweet and almost innocent, at least compared to everything else Íþróttaálfurinn has witnessed. Robbie reaches out as if to grab him, to keep their lips together for longer, and Sportacus indulges him with a pleased sigh, giving him another lingering kiss before pulling back.

“Do you like being watched, Robbie?” He crooks his fingers, Robbie jerks against him and nods. “Would you have let him see everything? Just stayed silent and let him look on quietly as we had sex?”

“Yes,” Robbie says, unashamed. There’s a stubborn cast to his features, and something in Íþróttaálfurinn lurches at the thought of seeing that expression being wiped off his face and he finds himself walking closer, wanting to see everything in full detail.

“That’s mean, Robbie.” Sportacus chides lightly, no heat behind it. “Selfishly using him for your voyeurism kink. What if he wanted to play with you too?”

Robbie goes still, hazy eyes drifting back over to Íþróttaálfurinn. He licks his lips idly, his hands trailing up his own abdomen to brush over his pert nipples.

Íþróttaálfurinn’s knees feel weak, and he has to resist the urge to start palming his dick through his pants. 

“Could we?” Robbie asks, sounding breathless. “Could we invite him to join?”

“Of course. I don’t mind sharing you with myself, though anyone else would be out of the question.” A suggestive sort of smile paints itself across his face. “And you would like that, wouldn’t you? A nice spot between us; we’ll fuck you until you’re too exhausted to move, and then we’ll just. Keep. Going.” He adds another finger, Robbie almost sobs as he tries to fuck himself onto it even though his hips are still pinned in place.

“Please, please, please,” he begs, eyes going from Íþróttaálfurinn to Sportacus. “I’ll be so good for you. Just let me have that.”

“You’re always so good for me, Robbie.” Sportacus’s voice is warm and tender, and Robbie seems to preen at the praise, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he smiles. “That’s why I’m going to give you exactly what you want. At least, if Íþróttaálfurinn agrees.”

The pair of them look over; Robbie’s gaze is pleading, Sportacus’s is all-knowing. 

“Won’t you join us, Íþróttaálfurinn?” Robbie arches his back and runs a finger over the tip of one of Sportacus’s ears. Sportacus shudders at the touch. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

He wants to agree right away, and there’s no way either of them have missed the evidence of his interest, but at the same time he feels the need to be a little more stubborn. He wants to make Robbie work for his cooperation a little harder. 

“How do you plan on doing that?”

Robbie fists a hand in Sportacus’s hair, not breaking eye contact with Íþróttaálfurinn. Sportacus huffs out a laugh and leans in to nuzzle his neck. 

“Why don’t you come closer and I’ll show you?”

“I’d rather you tell me first.” He wants to watch that beautiful mouth form every dirty thought racing through Robbie’s head.

Sportacus whispers something directly into Robbie’s ear, and Robbie sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth before speaking.

“I’m going to get you to strip, and once you’re finally naked I’ll have you step right in front of me and I’m going to bite and suck on the flesh above your hipbones so hard that you’ll have marks on you for days. I’m going to drag my nails down the curve of your spine and kiss lightly all over your hips, the tops of your thighs, and under your navel until you can’t take any more teasing and fist a hand in my hair.” Robbie squirms against Sportacus as the elf removes his hand from between them. “And then I’m going to let you fuck my mouth. Look at how hard you are already, leaking through your pants, I’m going to absolutely shatter you. When you’re done I’m going to play with the tips of those cute little ears of yours until you’re hard again.” As if to demonstrate he rolls the cartilage of one of Sportacus’s ears between his fingers sharply, grinning at the way it makes Sportacus pant and grind against him. “If you’re really good for me I’ll even help you out the second time, too. I’ll let you suck my cock while I get you off from just ear stimulation and letting you grind against my leg.”

Íþróttaálfurinn tries not to seem too eager as he slips his hat off of his head, exposing the delicate tips of his ears to Robbie’s avid gaze. Then he takes off his leather chest plate and shirt, trying to go slowly and make a show of it, purposefully showing off his physique with every movement. Robbie makes encouraging noises, though he breaks off into a breathy gasp when Sportacus moves away just long enough to take off his own pants. Soon he stands naked before the pair of them, confident enough in his own appearance that he doesn’t feel bashful at the increased scrutiny. 

“That will do nicely,” Robbie says, pressing a kiss to Sportacus’s lips before crawling out from under him and towards the edge of the bed, bracing himself on his hands and knees. “Come closer, Íþróttaálfurinn. Let me touch you.”

He takes another step forward and Robbie is quick to make good on his promise. The sting of teeth at his hip is, at first, alarming, but then the hot pressure of Robbie’s mouth sucking at the skin has him nearly falling over. He’s never thought of the bony protrusions as being sensitive, but he suspects he’s about to find out a lot more concerning his own body, if Robbie’s glinting eyes and Sportacus’s knowing smile are anything to go by.

Robbie carefully marks up his other hip in the same fashion, groaning against Íþróttaálfurinn’s flesh as Sportacus comes up behind him, his callused hands groping Robbie’s ass cheeks, squeezing and pulling them apart intermittently. Robbie’s arms then wrap around his waist, nails lightly scratching as he sinks further down, gently kissing almost all of the skin in front of him and gasping wetly against Íþróttaálfurinn’s navel as Sportacus begins to draw his cock up and down the crease of Robbie’s ass.

“You want our cocks so badly, don’t you,” he finds himself asking, drawing a hand up Robbie’s jawline and wishing that the human’s ears were as sensitive as an elf’s.

“I do,” Robbie answers between kisses and licks, thrusting his hips back against Sportacus. “And I always get what I want.” He gazes up with a challenging look, as if daring Íþróttaálfurinn to defy him.

He fists his hands into Robbie’s hair and smirks. Sportacus licks a stripe up Robbie’s spine, one hand moving down to the base of his cock as he whispers something else in Robbie’s ear. Robbie nods, almost imperceptivity, hands gliding down Íþróttaálfurinn’s back to grip firmly at his hips, thumbs digging roughly into the reddening marks that his mouth had left and sending sparks of want up Íþróttaálfurinn’s spine. 

Without breaking eye contact Robbie lets his mouth fall open, tongue lolling out past his teeth, and Íþróttaálfurinn guides him to his cock, pushing the head past the warm, wet ring of Robbie’s lips. Robbie’s eyelashes flutter and he sighs in pleasure, his fingers digging deeper into Íþróttaálfurinn’s skin as Sportacus moves behind him. Robbie begins to moan in earnest, hips rocking back on Sportacus’s cock while he tries and fails to take more of Íþróttaálfurinn in his mouth, unable to move while his head is held in place. He works his tongue over the head and along the slit instead, saliva escaping from his mouth to dribble down the shaft and his own chin. Íþróttaálfurinn keeps him still for a minute or so, brushing his fingers against the curved ears and relishing the feeling of being so in control before finally moving his hips, watching in fascination as, inch by inch, he sinks in deeper. His hands grip harder in Robbie’s hair as he begins to set a faster pace, toes beginning to curl already as Robbie hollows his cheeks and relaxes his throat. Íþróttaálfurinn doesn’t bother paying any attention to Sportacus, the entirety of his focus locked on Robbie; the sweet sounds he’s making, the wet noise of his mouth, the constant dig of his fingers, the pleased way he’s looking up from underneath his eyelashes as his nose brushes against Íþróttaálfurinn’s pubic hair.

He feels the muscles of his lower abdomen begin to tense, and breathy moans begin to fall from his own lips as something white-hot builds up inside of him, the stimulation almost too much for him to handle. He tries to pull Robbie away but the man stays put, shorts nails suddenly digging in so hard that he wouldn’t be surprised if he broke the skin.

Pleasure floods through him, making him choke on a gasp as his grip on Robbie’s hair weakens. He shudders, hyper-sensitive as Robbie’s throat works around him, and he lets out an uncharacteristic whine as Robbie pulls away, licking his lips with a smirk.

“Good boy,” Robbie tells him, his voice raspy and deep, and then he groans as Sportacus wraps an arm around his waist and hoists his body up.

Íþróttaálfurinn sinks to his knees at the side of the bed, trying to catch his breath as he watches the two before him. The way they move together is proof enough that they’ve done this many times before. The way Robbie arches his neck to one side so that Sportacus can press kisses all along the pale flesh, and how he reaches back with one hand to playfully flick at one of Sportacus’s ears makes something twist in Íþróttaálfurinn’s gut.

Sportacus palms a hand over the dripping head of Robbie’s dick and whispers, “I love you,” just loud enough for Íþróttaálfurinn to hear as well. Robbie shudders at the words and Sportacus repeats them, again and again, until Robbie spills against him. He continues to rock back onto Sportacus even after his own release, one hand still toying roughly with Sportacus’s ear while the other intertwines with his wet fingers. Sportacus braces his forehead against Robbie’s shoulder as his thrusts lose their previous rhythm, becoming more of a desperate grind as his entire body tenses. Robbie’s name is an unending mantra on his lips, stopped only by a choked gasp as he reaches his own orgasm. 

His softening cock slips out of Robbie, and semen begins to slowly track down the man’s thighs. Íþróttaálfurinn almost salivates at the alluring sight of it, and wonders what kind of sounds he could draw from Robbie if he put his mouth on the pink rim and cleaned him out with his own tongue. Robbie falls to the side with a happy sigh, dragging Sportacus down with him and circling his arms around the elf’s shoulders. They kiss deeply, neither of them seeming to care that Íþróttaálfurinn had come in Robbie’s mouth minutes before.

He could get hard just from watching them again.

They break the kiss eventually, and after a moment of meaningful eye contact they both turn to look at him.

“Well, on to the next phase,” Robbie says as he lazily holds a hand out to Íþróttaálfurinn, who takes it and allows himself to be lead onto the bed, feeling a little out of his depth as Robbie hums in contentment and begins to trace his long, sensual fingers against Íþróttaálfurinn’s closest ear. “The night is far from over, after all, and I have certain expectations when it comes to your stamina.”

Sportacus laughs, trailing a hand up Robbie’s chest and tweaking one of his nipples. “I promised you before, didn’t I Robbie? We’re going to play with you until you’re completely burnt out.”

Robbie sighs in pleasure and leans forward to take the tip of Íþróttaálfurinn’s ear into his mouth.

Íþróttaálfurinn is definitely in over his head. And he doesn’t think he’ll be able to look at Glanni the same after this.

He’ll worry about that later, though.


End file.
